


Outlaws of Love

by phrynne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cigarettes, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Falling In Love, Healing, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Insomnia, M/M, Nightmares, Not Epilogue Compliant, POV Alternating, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, References to Depression, Therapy, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:29:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 18,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22363390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phrynne/pseuds/phrynne
Summary: Nobody cares what happens to the hero after the story is over.Nobody cares what happens to the one who made all the wrong choices.Yet, this is exactly what happens when they meet again.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 260
Kudos: 535
Collections: Draco x Harry





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there, I'm back :) This is a small WIP, that I'm currently finishing writing. Hope you enjoy the first chapter. Please notice the tags. I'll be adding more as I post the chapters. This is one of the heaviest stories I've written and it will be touching on some triggering stuff. I'll be giving the warnings in every chapter, when needed. Thank you for reading!

> _«Hey, tears all fall the same_
> 
> _We all feel the rain_
> 
> _…_
> 
> _Everywhere we go we're looking for the sun_
> 
> _Nowhere to grow old, we're always on the run_
> 
> _They say we'll rot in Hell, but I don't think we will_
> 
> _They've branded us enough outlaws of love.»_
> 
> Outlaws of Love - Adam Lambert

**HARRY**

Truth is… nobody cares what happens to the hero after the story is over.

My eyes are closed. I feel the walls of the castle towering over me. They no longer feel familiar. _I_ no longer feel familiar. Rain batters at the windows, thunder strikes. I used to feel safe here. Safer, anyway. 

When I open my eyes, she’s the first thing I see. There’s a streak of white light that crosses over her face. It flashes once, twice, in tandem with the storm outside. Her red hair spills over my pillow. She sleeps naked under my sheets. Even though we’re no longer dating. No longer together. No longer _anything_ other than friends. I knew we were over the moment I saw Ginny after the Battle, covered in ashes and wreck. Alive, breathing, a fighter. I never loved her as much as I did in that moment. I also knew it wouldn’t be enough. We broke up a week after the War. I don’t know who said it first. But we were over. We were also having sex. And kept doing it. We’re still doing it. 

Eight years can choose whether they want to stay in their House dorms or have their own separate quarters. Someone decided I should have a private room. Most nights, she ends up in my bed. We fuck. She sleeps. Maybe that’s the real reason she comes here. To be able to sleep. I lean over to kiss her forehead. A crease of hurt is painted in the corner of her mouth. The irony of it all is that I can conquer death, but not this. 

Love — love is not something one can spell real. 

In the semi-darkness, I get dressed. Jeans, sweater, trainers. I never got around to using the proper uniform again, and no one told me off. No one tells me off anymore. I grab my pack of cigarettes from where I’ve hidden it, under a pile of socks in the drawer, tuck my wand in my back pocket and leave silently. I know she’ll sleep through it. ‘Till morning. 

I’m never as lonely as I walk through the dark corridors of Hogwarts. I get to wander freely all over the castle; no need for my cloak anymore. Everything feels out of turn, out of place. This used to be home. It’s more of a graveyard now. All the ghosts — the real ones — are gone since the Battle. No one knows why. I didn’t know I’d miss them this much. It’s as if they left a hole. 

I reach the landing, then the front door. _Impervius_ is on my tongue as I step outside. No out of bounds places for me now. I can go anywhere I want. I can even leave Hogwarts. I doubt anyone would stop me. But all I think about is going _there_. 

The Forest looms right up ahead, distant, close. Every night, as I walk past it, I dream of going there to die. I dream of walking the whole length of it. Of finding what’s beyond it, of never coming back. Instead, I turn left and move along the castle’s walls. Further back, there’s a quiet spot I like. A place where there’s only the night, the stone, the trees. Hidden from sight. 

He’s already there, of course. As I knew he would be.

He stands under the hard rain. His hair looks nearly white, plastered to his face, his black robes soaked through, tugging at his thin chest. His sleeves are rolled up. My eyes catch on the Dark Mark, right there, on his left arm. A crude thing. A dead thing. 

His eyes are turned upwards to the sky. His face is dripping wet. 

As in all the times before, he doesn’t seem to notice me at all.

I lean back against the wall, protected by my _Impervius_. I add a warming spell and light my cigarette. Inhale. Exhale. In all this, my wand never left my pocket. I've been practicing wandless, non-verbal magic. Sometimes, I think it’s the only thing that still has any meaning. The only thing I have left. Inhale, exhale. 

Not for the first time, I wonder if he’s real. If I didn’t get to see him in class I’d probably think him a product of my imagination. A consequence of war trauma, as my therapist would say. That is — if I ever mentioned these late night meetings to her. Which I won’t. 

Standing under the rain he is like a ghost. A spectral thing. 

A vision of my sleepless nights.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see the end notes for content warning.

**DRACO**

Truth is… nobody cares what happens to the one who made all the wrong choices. 

Lightning strikes, cuts the sky in half. For a second, I’m blissfully blind. I imagine what it would be like. To be hit by thunder. Struck by lightning. Some would think it symbolic. I, for one, would call it poetic justice. 

All the more so because he’d watch it happen, leaning against that damned wall, smoking those damned cigarettes. He wouldn’t save me this time around, we’d finally be even. As if I can ever be even with a martyr. A selfless hero.

I’m sure he’s the only reason they let me get back to Hogwarts. This is all I have now. Finish school. Get a proper job. Marry whomever mother says. Produce an heir for what’s left of the Malfoy’s fortune. It’s nothing but a task list. All I have to do is check the boxes. Unless something happens. 

To me, I mean. 

I guess that’s part of the reason I come to this place. It stops my favourite train of thought. All the ways I could be gone. All the ways I can end it. 

I thought I’d be alone here, but I noticed him on the first night. I suppose I could have gone somewhere else. But like all the things between me and him, it became a question of pride. The last shred of it.

We’ve been sharing these silent moments. I thought he might be expecting me to thank him. I hate that now I not only owe him my life, but also mother's. He spoke for us at the trials. Father was convicted of course. I knew all along there would be no hope for him. But when it came to me and mother, it was Potter’s speech that turned the sentence around. I don’t even remember what he said, just that he went on and on about turning the other cheek or some sort of noble crap. All I know is that it won them over. Mother and I were formally pardoned, provided we keep funding War reparations and get reintegrated into society — whatever that means. In the end, it’s one more life debt piling up at his feet. I was supposed to be locked up for good. Instead, he decided I won’t be paying my dues.

Mother thanked him, of course. His answer, if I remember correctly, was that he also had something to thank her for. I have no idea what they were talking about and I couldn’t care less. 

Since we’re back at Hogwarts, we barely said a word to each other. Not that he speaks much to anyone these days. He doesn't seem to have any friends besides his usual two. They always look worried around him and that's probably why he's spending less and less time with them.

I have every intention of keeping my mouth shut. He seems intent on the same thing. All he does is watch me and consume those Muggle lethal things. 

At least, we finally have something in common.

It seems we both want to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: mentions of suicide/suicidal thoughts.


	3. Chapter 3

**HARRY**

Rain hasn’t stopped for days. It’s the third night in a row that I find him here, getting drenched to the bone. He doesn’t seem to care at all and it makes me kind of mad for no reason.

‘What are you doing, Malfoy?’ I nearly have to scream to be heard. I can’t remember the last time my words weren’t a heartless answer to someone else.

‘What does it look like, Potter?’ He asks, without even looking back. 

If he’s surprised that I’m here, he doesn’t show it. His voice sounds different than I remember. It cracks like the storm. 

‘Oh I dunno.’ I say slowly, _ ironically.  _ I really don’t know why I feel so mad at his indifference. ‘Like pneumonia? Hypothermia? A fucking cold? Take your pick.’

There’s a pause in which only the rain and thunder answer my taunts. 

He finally turns to look at me. 

‘Good.’

His smile. Strange. Fragile. It strikes me in place for a second and then it’s gone. He looks pointedly at my cigarette. 

‘Those Muggle things…’ he says and I recognise his usual drawl. ‘Aren’t those supposed to kill you?’

I take a long drag of my cigarette. 

‘I’m testing that hypothesis.’ I say. 

The smoke rises up before me when I exhale. Beyond it, he considers me.

‘I suppose that once you die and come back it sort of loses the unappealing factor.’ 

His comment is so unexpected that I actually laugh.

‘And I suppose if you escape death by fire, it makes death by drenching that much more appealing?’

The strange smile from before shows up again. The rain pours down on his face and neck, droplets shining on his very sharp cheekbones.

‘It’s the appeal of the rest of it that I’m questioning.’ He says quietly.

As I watch him leave, his lonely back retreating into shadows, out of sight, I am reminded of everything that no longer makes sense.

Like this conversation. The longest we’ve had since I met him all those years ago.


	4. Chapter 4

**DRACO**

To my knowledge, this is the only class he still shows up to. This random realisation hits me at the same time his hex throws me down to the floor. 

Potter comes at me, I throw a _Protego_ , then I go for his throat with a curse. We fight like we’re at war. It’s like we never really left. He blocks me, I jinx him, he falls over a desk. He sends it flying over my head. It comes crashing loudly on the other side of the room.

‘Did that piece of furniture offend your sensibilities, Potter?’ I ask, trying to catch my breath. 

I never want anything as much as I want to hurt him. To get some sort of reaction out of him. We duel fast and furious. If I still cared for it, I’d say we’re top of the class. But I no longer give a fuck about grades, I just want Hogwarts to be done. To check that off the list. 

He chuckles. It’s a flat kind of laugh, but it’s still a laugh. Somewhat careless. But his eyes are on me. I have his whole attention. _Great._ I hex him on the spot, he blocks me, then curses me. I double over, pain shooting down my spine. I love that he’s officially dropped the good boy act. He curses viciously, albeit far from _Unforgiving_ or from those beautiful memories we once shared in a bathroom. I still have the scars to show for it, they give off a dull ache in especially cold weather. At that time, his magic felt more raw, intense, but kind of all over the place. It lacked the searing focus it has now. Like a blade made for battle, he’s been polishing it. But so have I.

The second I recover from his curse, I pay him back with interest. He blocks the first one, misses the next. I watch him fall to the floor, clutching at his chest, gasping loudly for air. These are the sounds I love. Anger, resentment and challenge. It’s all in there, as he fights to breathe, his fingers clutching his wand. 

The room fills up with our raw, unbridled magic, sparks and edges cutting across stone and wood. We fight ugly, but the new teacher never tells us off, maybe because she’s new here, but mostly because he’s the saviour of the fucking world and the sole reason we’re all still living and breathing. That means he gets a free pass for cutting classes and roam around Hogwarts grounds at his will and I heard he even has a private room. He also gets to fight me until one of us draws blood. 

‘Why so quiet, Malfoy?’ He asks now, lifting himself up. 

I laugh. I want to make him bleed, that’s what I want.

In all the times we’ve fought, he never once used his famous signature move. No _Expelliarmus_ for me. Apparently, he wants me armed and ready. I want him _defeated_. 

I can feel the push and pull of his magic building up momentum all around me. That’s when I decide to hit him with three hexes all rolled up into one. It’s a neat trick I’ve been wanting to try out. He doesn’t block it, but instead evades it, jumping quickly to the side. I hear something crash loudly somewhere in the room. He curses me, I block it, he falls down cursing me again and now my skin feels blazing hot. I no longer can tell where one spell ends and another one begins. 

I send his wand flying, which is a first. The thrill of it drills hot in my blood. I don’t expect him to smile, but that is exactly what he does. I struggle to speak, my head ringing. 

‘Come at me, Potter.’

His smile stays in place. It sends a red-hot jolt down my body, burning through everything. He gets up, arms open, hands empty, palms turned upwards. I’ve seen him go for wandless and non-verbal magic like it’s nothing at all. I’m ready for it. Whatever he throws at me. But wandless is much harder to predict. I lift my wand.

And suddenly he’s crossing the room in a heartbeat and he’s on me and I can’t react. He punches me on the jaw. The pain is exquisite, more real than anything that went before.

I begin to fall backwards, my wand dropping down to the floor. He grabs the front of my robes and pulls me up. I taste his breath on my lips. I only know one wandless spell, but it’s a vicious one. I forced myself to learn it during the War, in case I ended up cornered, wandless and needing to escape. 

Magic blows up in my veins, draws down to my fingers, hits him right on the chest. His silent counterspell strikes me full force. I see white, the whole room erupts in a violent scream, but it’s as if I’m under water, swimming a thousand miles away. Deep, deep under. I taste blood in my mouth.

For the first time in months, I feel brutally alive.


	5. Chapter 5

**HARRY**

I guess it had to happen. I’ve been getting away with too much, anyway. 

After a trip to the Hospital Wing, we’re assigned detention. Two whole weeks of it, after classes, which means I actually _have to_ go to those classes. 

At detention we just sit in a classroom in an angry silence. We’re supposed to be doing homework, but I haven’t got a clue what that might be. I’ve been missing most classes since the year started. I can’t imagine what the study program for each of those is. He has his parchment and books out, but he’s crossly glaring at the desk he’s sitting at, like he could easily burst a hole on the surface with the mere power of his stare. 

I can almost touch how much he hates me right now. Probably more than he ever did. Which is funny if you think about our history. Broken noses. Bleeding to death in a bathroom. And now this. It’s hilarious, come to think of it.

I know I shouldn’t, but I’m laughing before I know it and then I can’t stop. He startles. And I fucking can’t stop laughing. He glares at me, and I try to stop, I really do, but I can’t. I’m laughing so hard, my eyes tear up. His eyebrows draw up. His mouth is a straight thin line of contempt. My laugh rings in my ears. It rings off the walls. 

‘I violently dislike you.’ He says flatly.

I’m practically snorting with laughter at this point. A line shows up on his forehead. He stands up, his right hand balling into a fist. 

‘This is all just fun and games to you, isn’t it, Potter?’ He snaps at me. ‘You don’t give an actual fuck about finishing Hogwarts. Why would you, really. It’s not like you need it. Someone’s probably already keeping your seat at the fucking Ministry warm for you, no matter how much you screw this up.’

His voice does this thing where it rises and falls and catches and clips. His fury is cold, but also demanding. He wants to make me confess to it. I stop laughing. This is the longest he has spoken to me. Like, ever. His hand flexes at his side. We’re not allowed wands during detention, which is probably a good idea. 

‘You’re right, Malfoy.’ I say, catching my breath. ‘I don’t fucking care.’ 

He always had this way of glaring at me, like it’s impossible to know what he’s thinking. It’s what he’s doing right now, looking at me dead in the eye and I can't stand it. Thank Merlin I smuggled my pack of cigarettes here. I light one wandlessly and the minute I do, I know it’s a mistake. 

His lips twist in disapproval. Great, now he just hates me some more. 

We stare at each other. Come to think about it, it’s something we’ve both been doing a lot. Staring and staring until one of us gets a reaction out of the other. Any kind of reaction. He has a week-old bruised lip and jaw to match my bruised chest and arms. He really did quite the job on me with those hexes. He’s _good_. To be fair, he’s better than me. His technique is nearly perfect. He’s quick on his feet, when he wants to be. He fights strategically, but he can get creative under pressure. He knows how to read me. Sometimes it’s as if he knows what I’m going for, even before I do. He’s definitely better than anyone I ever dueled.

‘I like fighting you.’ I say. 

His only answer is a dry, ironic laugh. I take a drag of my cigarette. He folds his arms, his jaw tense.

‘It’s true.’ I add. ‘It’s about the only thing I like these days. And cigarettes.’ 

I did not know I was about to tell him this, but it’s not untrue. He’s practically seething with quiet anger.

‘I- hate- you.’ He separates each word with a heavy silent pause. 

I find myself smirking at him.

‘But you like fighting me-’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand cliffhanger! Don't kill me! What do you think Draco is going to do next?  
> The line 'I violently dislike you' is obviously taken from Buffy - she says it to Spike :D hope you enjoyed this one :)


	6. Chapter 6

**DRACO**

I don’t even let him finish. I’m on him, his back to the wall, my everything against his whole body. We’ve been this close only three times before. 

When I saved him at the Manor. 

When he saved me from the Fiendfyre. 

And in our last duel. 

Somehow those different times collapse into this one. There’s a tug of fire in my chest, a tug of war in my heart. 

My hand lifts of its own accord and I don’t know its purpose until my fingers close around his neck. His eyes widen, he gasps. But he does nothing to break free of my grip. 

The cigarette falls from his fingers, the bright tip shining on the way down to the floor. I watch his hands for signs of wandless magic, but there’s nothing there. His whole body tenses like a bow and then he drops his arms down, all the tension instantly gone from him. He tilts his head back. His lips part. He closes his eyes. 

I can’t close mine. I’m fully intent on every bit of him, like this is it, the point of no return. He’s wielding something to me, I don’t know what, but he is. I could hit him. I could kiss him. I could tighten my fingers harder around his neck, make him choke. 

What I do next, never even crossed my mind. 

I spit on his face. 

His eyes snap open. Behind his glasses, they look very green, very wide. I watch as my spit runs slowly down his chin. He breathes hard. I lean over and lick the spit right off his face. My tongue traces the corner of his lips. I feel his hot breath on me, the minty rush from his cigarettes. He makes a helpless little sound with the back of his throat, like a stifled moan. It makes me nearly crazed. I release his throat. My fingers leave faint marks on his neck. His jaw shines in the exact place where my tongue has been. 

I have no idea if detention time is over or not.

I burst the door open and leave him standing there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Draco is a bit unpredictable, right?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check the end notes for content warning and check the tags. Take care and be safe*

**HARRY**

I’m back from my weekly therapy session, but Malfoy is the only thing on my mind. 

Every time I see him, I want to start a war. He seems more than willing to let me. I definitely can’t tell that to my therapist. I also can’t tell her that I get a kick out of fighting him. More than that, I get a kick out of  _ him  _ fighting me, making  _ me  _ hurt. I’m aware that this is not something I’m supposed to enjoy. I’m also not supposed to try and get partnered with him every time, so that we can crush each other. No one else fights me like him. Like he sees through  _ me _ . 

We’re spending the days fighting, the nights in quiet silence. It doesn’t make any sense. It’s just one more thing I’m not telling Hermione or Ron. They were worried about the fights. They said I should talk to Mirna — my therapist. She's a Mind Healer. Her specialty, she told me in the first session, months ago, is trauma healing. I don’t think I’m healing, though. It’s why I can’t tell my friends about those nights. Or detention. It simply adds up to all those other things I’m not telling them, like the fact that I smoke, that most of the time I have no idea why I’m still alive, that sometimes I wish I wasn’t. That sometimes I regret the decision I made the night I died. That sometimes I believe that there’s nothing for me here. 

It’s different for them. They have each other. They have a purpose, plans for the future. Those plans include me too, but I never told them I no longer believe in the future. Sometimes when I look at them, it’s as if there’s a glass wall all around me. I try to speak, to call out their names, but no sound comes out of my mouth. Those moments are the worst. I told Mirna about those. 

But I didn’t tell her about Malfoy and the fights and that night he spat on me and licked my face. I didn’t tell her because I liked it too much. Because Malfoy was about to kiss me. Or kick me, I really don’t know. It shouldn’t feel this way. Like I’ve accomplished something. Made him notice me in a way that’s impossible to deny. I would have let him do anything and that thought doesn’t even frighten me. 

Malfoy… he seems to be alone all the time. From what I’ve seen, most of the eight years don’t speak a word to him. Not even a good morning. His friends from before — Goyle, Parkinson, Zabini — they didn’t come back to Hogwarts. And one of his best friends is dead. I wonder if he will ever forget the smell of burnt flesh. It’s hardly the worse thing I remember from the War, but somehow I can’t forget it. Can’t erase it. 

Every time I go to London to my sessions, I think of disappearing. Not going to therapy, not going back to Hogwarts. Not going anywhere, not caring anymore. But then I remember what Mirna said to me in our first session. She told me that sometimes it has to get worse before it gets better. I don’t know if she’s right. But part of me hopes she is. 

When I want to give it all up, I remember him standing, unflinching, before the court. I remember the way he talked, slowly, steadily, presenting the facts, explaining his actions. I remember the haunted look on his face when he saw his father sentenced to life in Azkaban. I remember it changing to worry as he stood beside his mother, his hand on her arm, steadying her. And I remember him alone on that spot under the hard rain. I remember the way he fights me. I remember him spitting on my face, then licking it right off. The maddening defiance in him. That thing that won’t be compromised, won’t be made to comply, no matter what life throws at him. The fact that he never thanked me for saving his life or for speaking at the trials and the fact that he won’t, not ever. The fact that I don’t want him to. The fact that no one else seems to get this. 

He’s in my mind all the time.

This is exactly the sort of thing I don’t tell my therapist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: mentions of suicidal thoughts/self destructive thoughts.
> 
> Just a random curiosity: The therapist is named Mirna (which was the first name that popped in my mind), but I later found out that Mirna is a serbian/croatian name that means peaceful. :) Nice, isn't it? 
> 
> Something personal: I'm 3 years into therapy and my therapist is amazing. So is Mirna, but Harry doesn't know it yet. :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, this chapter was very hard to write. It’s one of the heaviest things I’ve wrote. It’s also a very triggering scene, so please check the end notes for content warning and/or notice the tags I added. Take care and keep safe*

**DRACO**

My back is against the wall. His fingers push open my robes, his hands insistent, searching. His name is Matthew. He’s a seventh year Ravenclaw. We’ve been meeting up in empty classrooms late at night. It works as a neat distraction. Some nights, what he has to offer is the only thing standing between me and one of those thoughts. 

I evade his tentative kiss. His mouth ends up on my neck. He sucks on my skin, and I ignore the fact that I’ve told him over and over again to not leave marks on me. I’ll have to glamour it later. 

His hands dig into my hips. I feel nothing when he touches me. 

Again I think he could at least have gone to the trouble of showering before meeting me. He always smells of sweat. I guess he takes great pride in being a Beater for the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. Too proud to care for the fact that he stinks. He’s tall, all muscle, his hair a light brown, his eyes blue — one of his best assets, if not the best. He’s always surrounded by girls. Unfortunately for them, he prefers dicks. I guess you could say he’s hot, if you like the type. Beaters were never really my thing, but he’ll do for now. At least, he doesn’t seem to have a problem with my last name, which is rare enough these days. 

We’ve only shared a few handjobs up until now, but he’s made it pretty clear he wants more. He’s been trying to fuck me for weeks. I always end up distracting him with my hands, postponing it to never ever. I can tell he’s getting impatient. Yesterday, I let him come on my naked back. I felt so disgusted afterwards, it took me several cleaning spells and almost one hour in the showers to be rid of the feeling of his come on me. 

He has a mind to repeat the stunt tonight. He turns me around, running his right hand over my chest and then dropping it down to my crotch. The fact that I’m not even hard doesn’t seem to bother him.

‘I bet I can get you hard in a minute, Draco…’ he whispers, licking a path on my neck. I shiver, and not for a good reason. 

‘It’s Malfoy to you,’ I say, trying to sound as bored as I can. The heel of his hand presses inefficiently against my cock. ‘And… you’re not that good.’ 

His hand freezes over me. His other hand, pressed against the wall, tightens minutely. 

‘’Gosh, Draco,’ he laughs, but even with my back to him I can tell it’s not a pleasant laugh. ‘You’re such a little prick. Maybe I should shut you up. Bet your mouth just needs to be busy…’

I push his hand away from my crotch. 

‘It’s late, I should go.’ 

I immediately realise this is the wrong thing to say to someone like him. 

His fingers lock around my wrists, he pulls my arms up and pushes me hard against the wall. Just one of his hands is enough to pin both my wrists there without much effort.

‘Oh no, you’re not. Not yet,’ he breathes on my neck.

‘Let go of me.’ 

I try to steady my voice, but it’s hard to do that when my face is up against a wall, my cheek scratched by the cold stone. I never realised how strong he is. I struggle to push him back, but he seems unmovable. I try to reach for my wand but it dawns on me that I left it lying on a desk when we walked into this classroom. Out of my reach. 

_Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._

He’s undressing behind me, his right hand still pinning me in place. I can’t believe this is happening. He wouldn’t- I don’t want this. His hands are now all over me, the whole weight of his body pressing me against the wall. _I led him on._ I hate him touching me. _He’s just collecting what I promised._ I try to find an angle to look at my wand. To make sure it’s still there, that he didn’t take it- I can’t wandlessly _Accio_ it, but if I could see it somehow it would be better- 

‘Let me go, Matthew.’ I say, a bit louder this time. I sound pathetic, hoping that saying his name will make him hesitate, maybe stop. 

He just starts unzipping my pants. Cold sweat breaks at my temple. My entire body tenses, like I’m in a full body-bind and can’t get rid of it. He’s saying something to me but I can’t make out the words. It’s like my whole mind is foggy, and the only coherent thought is my wand, I need to reach it. 

He forces my legs apart and rubs his cock in between them, like he’s got all the time in the world, like I’m enjoying this. He’s hard and he holds me in a vice-like grip, adjusting himself behind me. I scramble against the wall, push back with all of my strength. 

Somehow I manage to make him lose his footing. He sways on the spot, takes a step back and it’s enough for me to run blindly for the desk. My wand is there. He grabs my robes. I hear the fabric tearing, a horrible tug. I stumble forward. He yanks the wand away from me and it clatters loudly to the floor. 

‘Oh, Draco, you really don’t want to do that,’ he says with a wide smile, catching his breath. 

I feel frozen to the floor, holding my pants up, the sleeve of my robes hanging loose, ripped. He steps closer to me and I can’t move. My eyes are fixed on the wand on the floor, my heart racing.

‘Imagine what the Headmistress would say,’ his voice is almost soft, but dead cold. ‘A Death Eater hexing one of the students out of duelling class... You’d be out of here in a heartbeat- and you can’t afford that, can you?’ His smile broadens. ‘You have to behave. Everyone knows your family is ruined.’

‘Leave my family out of this.’ I snap. 

He steps on my wand. I hear the distinct sound of wood rasping against stone. My heart misses a beat, I’m paralised in terror. 

‘It would be so easy to break it, Draco.’

He’s right. It’s only wood. The heel of his boot could easily crush it. Or his Beater’s hands. He could snap it in half without breaking a sweat. I still remember the ache of being deprived of my wand during the War. The idea of it being permanent… it’s as if I’m splitting apart. I realise what this means. 

‘What do you want?’ I ask.

He kicks my wand away, it rolls further to the side. I can’t reach it without getting past him. He tilts his head, admiring the spectacle I make with my robes ripped, my neck probably marked by him. I fight the urge to cover myself. His eyes zero in on my mouth.

‘You could start by sucking my cock, Draco. I bet you did that a lot during the War.’ 

I can see in his face that he really believes what he’s saying. He believes I whored my way into the Death Eater ranks and then out of the War. It’s what he was expecting of me all this time. 

My hand is shaking badly. I force it to stop, nausea rising up my throat. I take a deep breath. He’s stronger than me. He has my wand. And he also has another substantial advantage in all of this: he’s not a Malfoy. His father is not locked up in Azkaban, with a life sentence. He’s not a traitor. His word will beat mine any day. I know what I have to do. 

I cross the room and drop down to my knees in front of him. He’s saying something but I stop listening. I take his cock in my hand. He’s hard and leaking already. I try not to think, not to cry. I’m afraid that if I dare to breathe, I’ll throw up all over his perfect shoes. There’s no telling what he would do to me then. 

He grabs my hair harshly and sinks his cock in my mouth, no other preamble. I gag on it. His hands force my head down on him. He seems to be enjoying himself. _Stupid, stupid, stupid. How can I be so stupid?_ My face feels wet, my throat sore. _Just suck him off, suck him off and he’ll leave you alone._

He stops suddenly, grabs my hair with such force that my scalp burns, pulls me up and bashes me against the wall. It’s all so quick that I hit the stone blindly. I feel something warm and liquid running down my nose. The pain starts there and irradiates everywhere. He’s on me, forcing me against the wall again, his hand around my neck. I’m choking, there are dark spots in my vision, my skull rattles. A silent scream inside my head. _No. Please, stop._ I beg him. I’m begging him, even though this can’t be my voice, this sobbing, horrible, keening sound, pleading, pleading with him. _Matthew, please, stop._ His hands are on my pants again, he pushes them all the way down. I remember the wandless hex. I can use it. This is why I learned it. To get away when all else failed. I have to use it. I have to- his hands are on my throat, his cock between my legs, but he’s not quite there yet, where he wants to be, he’s trying to force me into a position- I try to summon it, my magic- _no, no, no, please, please, stop._ I can’t do it. This is all wrong. It shouldn’t be happening. _Or maybe it should. Maybe you deserve it._ My nails scratch the stone. There’s only pain and his hard breath, his hands all over me, he’s going to- he’s going to- I elbow him as hard as I can, I don’t even see where it lands. He grunts, releases me for a second, I turn frantically, my hands grabbing the nearest chair. I throw it against him, run for my wand, grab it from the floor, scramble for the door, swing it open.

I hear him grunting behind me, his heavy steps, and I blindly throw a _Protego_. His hex hits the walls of my protective spell.

I run. I run as fast as I can, pulling my pants up, my ripped robes around me, ignoring the searing pain in my forehead, on my nose, on my hands, I run and run and run mindlessly. I look back but he's not following me. The castle feels empty, quiet, my frantic breathing echoing off the walls, like the only living thing, a desperate sound. 

I only stop at the familiar sight of it. The quiet hidden spot behind the castle. My knees buckle. I fall to the ground. I'm about to throw up. My hands sway in a strange way before me. _Malfoy._ I turn wildly to where this voice is coming from, terror, terror. _Draco. What's. What happened-_ Everything keeps spinning. This voice- it’s not the same, it’s not- it sounds- _Draco. Draco._ It comes from very far away. Like someone speaking from above a well, when I'm all the way down here, echoes of my name. _Draco._ The ground is a harsh black. My hands are so white, but they’re dirty, scratched everywhere. One of my nails is broken. I don’t remember when that happened. A drop of blood falls on my hand, red on white. My face hurts. Everything is ruined. Everything is dirty. _Your clothes- Who did this? Who hurt you? Draco. Who hurt you?_ I know the name. It’s right there, under my tongue, but it’s so heavy, impossible, I can't say it. I'm shaking. I'm shaking so badly the ground is shattering, the dark is shattering. His face is haunted. Blurred. _You’re trembling. You’re bruised-_

‘Why don’t you just leave?’ I’m screaming at him, voice clipping high, shattering too. I can barely see, my face feels all wet. ‘It’s not your fucking problem-’

‘I want to help-’

‘Why do you always have to play the hero? Save me from the fire, now save me from - what?-’ I’m shouting. My voice is not my own. 

Green eyes come sharply into focus.

‘Draco.’ I know this look. Set and angry — it’s the same look that won the War in the end. ‘Who did this? Did someone-’

‘I did it.’ I say, savagely. My stomach clenches, something is burning through it, ripping me apart. ‘I’m the only one to blame.’

Someone is laughing hysterically. Someone who shouldn’t be laughing, because this is not funny, not funny. I put my hands on my face and they’re wet, and bloody, and I’m trembling, trembling, laughing. He’s helping me up, but I don’t want his help. Everything burns and then I feel so cold, so cold. These dirty hands, they’re not mine. They can’t be. They’re tainted. He should get away from me. I push him back and feel the ground coming up, the blackened sky hurtling down, the trees spinning towards me. 

‘I said I’m fine.’ I repeat. ‘I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine.’ 

The world turns pitch dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: this chapter is a graphic description of a rape scene. It involves Draco, but it does NOT involve Harry (meaning, Harry doesn’t rape Draco, someone else does). If this triggers you, please skip this chapter. If you decide to read, I’m hoping you do it in the safest way possible for you. Also, please remember there’s a happy ending at the end of this story. Thank you for sticking with this fic.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, I know the last chapter was horribly hard, but it's going to be better from now on. Please check the end notes for content warning for this chapter. There won't be another chapter as heavy as the one before this, but I'll keep adding the content warnings when needed. 
> 
> I'm going to need to stop posting for a few days, so that I can finish writing the last chapters (I'm nearly all done! So, don't worry!), but I do need this time to be alone with the story and the characters, so that I can give you my best writing :) I didn't want to leave it at that horrifying note, so here is a new chapter. Thank you for reading and supporting this story. Take care*

**HARRY**

He steps out of the bathroom wearing my clothes. The sweater hangs loose around his narrow shoulders, but the pants seem to fit. He seems weary, exhausted, like he’s lived years in just a couple of hours. His hair is still wet from the bath. There are dark circles under his eyes. But what gets me are the bruises. He has a cut on his nose and on his upper lip. It will probably be swollen tomorrow. There’s a dark-purple bruise on his jaw. And more on his neck, finger-shaped, like someone held him down, suffocating him. 

But there’s more than that. Something eyes can’t see. 

He notices me staring, puts his arms around himself and stands there, seemingly unsure. I quickly look away. My eyes burn. 

After he blacked out in my arms, I levitated him here. I thought of taking him to the Hospital Wing, but somehow I didn't think he'd want that. He’d have to explain. Whatever happened to him, it's wrong. So wrong. This wasn't a fight like ours. This was something else. Something horrible- something he’s not going to want to explain to a Healer. Or anyone. 

He came to after a while. For a violent second, his eyes were scared and wide. Then he seemed to recognise me. He rose up and stepped away from me, his face closed off to any sign of emotion. He asked for a change of clothes. I gave him a sweater and pyjama pants. I was careful not to pick something too Gryffindor, they’re grey and pretty nondescript. 

‘These are hideous.’ He mutters, brushing his fingers on the sweater.

‘They’re… old.’ I say. My voice sounds weird. 

He was locked up in my bathroom for nearly two hours. At some point I thought I heard him sobbing, a desperate fragile sound underneath the running water of my shower, but then everything went quiet. Silencing spell, probably. 

I stood outside the door, not knowing what to do. _I did it. I’m the only one to blame._ His words from before settled in a heavy, horrible knot in my chest. All I can think of is that someone hurt him, someone who’s still here, a student perhaps, someone he’s going to have to see tomorrow and everyday until the end of the year. Someone that got away with it. I have no idea what to say, all I know is that I feel sick to my stomach and angry, so angry.

He crosses the room. I think he’s about to tell me he’s leaving, but instead he sits on the bed beside me. He stares at his hands. I notice that one of his nails is broken, a trace of dark red blood on the tip of his finger. The bath wasn’t enough to make it go away. No bath is ever going to be enough, I realise. 

He quickly covers his hand with the other.

‘I never thanked you for anything-’ he starts. 

I interrupt him in a rush.

‘You don’t have to-’

‘I’m not.’ He slants me a determined look. 

There’s something so final about the way he says it. Like he’s saying a totally different thing: _this is who I am, take it or leave it_. 

‘Those-’ I swallow, holding his gaze. ‘Those are not like the bruises from our duels. They’re-’

He grimaces. 

‘Great powers of observation, Potter.’ He tries to go for his usual irony, but it comes out empty.

‘It’s going to get worse tomorrow. The bruises.’ I clear my throat. ‘Maybe… you should get to the Hospital Wing- I could come with you-’

He cuts me off, like I knew he would. 

‘Don’t. I’m not going.’

His hands tighten on his lap. They’re scratched everywhere. He fought to get away. 

‘I- You have to know that-’ I hesitate, trying to find the words. ‘It’s not your fault, Draco.’

He stands up. 

‘Stop saying my name like that.’ His voice shakes.

I’m standing up too.

‘Like- fine, forget I said it. The Headmistress would-’

‘Fuck the Headmistress.’ 

He looks at me, eyes defiant. He doesn’t raise his voice, in fact he says it so quietly it’s barely there, but his words slam into me. 

‘Fuck you, Potter. Fuck everyone. The whole world. Wizard. Muggle. I just want everyone to fuck the hell off.’

I spent most of this year looking at him, searching for something, but this is it. I feel like a dam is breaking, all of the things I’ve been trying to keep together, contained, escaping me. 

‘I wish that too.’ I say in a whisper.

I notice the flicker of surprise in his eyes. 

‘You’re the hero, Potter. I’m nothing.’

Of course that’s what he thinks.

‘I wish I was nothing.’

I sit on the bed again. I don’t look at him. 

‘You don’t mean that.’ He says. 

‘No one knows how tired I am.’

There’s a deep silence that follows. Draco walks over and sits beside me again. He doesn’t say it, but he doesn’t need to. I can still hear it all the same, without any words,  _ now I do, now I know. _ I stare at my hands, then at the floor. I’m afraid of what I’m about to say. Scared it will shut him away. Afraid that I won’t be able to do anything this time around.

‘Just tell me his name.’ 

I almost expect him to deny, to evade the question. But what really strikes me is that he doesn’t.

‘So you’ll do what?’ He asks, in a very soft tone. He looks straight at me. I’ve never seen such sad eyes.

‘Attack him in a corridor before class tomorrow?’ He asks quietly. ‘Save me again?’

_So, it’s true._

‘Just leave it, Potter. I told you: you can’t save everyone.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: please notice that this part of the story (from here on) will deal with the aftermath of rape. This chapter contains mentions of rape trauma and indirect/non-explicit references to rape. It won't be graphic. The references are made in the context of a supportive / safe talk between Harry and Draco. This chapter also contains references to depression.
> 
> Please take care of yourselves, be safe if you decide to read. Thank you all for the support and love for this story.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see the end notes for content warning.

**DRACO**

My eyes open to a thin layer of cold light filtering from a window. Dawn is breaking. For an agonizing moment, I’m back in that classroom, those hands pushing me against stone, the hard press of a body, that smell, his breath all over me. I have no idea where I am. This isn’t my bed, or the Slytherin dorms. Nothing feels familiar. My fingers clutch hard at my wand, I sit up, cold sweat breaking at my temple. I slept armed again, like I did all through the War. 

I whisper _Lumos_ , heart kicking wild against my ribs. The bright spot of light falls over Potter’s face. Black hair a mess, shuttered eyes, the rise and fall of a pyjama covered chest. He is asleep right next to me. I listen to his slow breath, a contrast to the hard grip he has around his wand. He holds it over the covers, ready. 

I watch him and force my breathing to slow down to his rhythm. Inhale. Exhale. It’s harder than it seems, to make myself breathe like I’m not under attack. 

My eyes linger on his quiet face. I notice the faint mark on his nose, left by years of wearing glasses. Even while he’s asleep he looks tired, older, thinner. The War aged us both in more ways than one. 

_I wish I was nothing._ His words from last night — I can’t forget them. Most days it’s as if he’s become the legend he is supposed to be. Half-unreal. Half-attached to life. Half-gone. Right now he looks more real to me than the castle walls, even if _this_ seems impossible. _I just slept with Potter._ I spent the night with him. And it wasn’t in a moody silence outside, in our secret spot, it was in his room, in his bed.

I fight back a wave of nausea as I recall the reason I’m here. Everything in my body hurts. I meant to go back to my dorm last night. I think I remember him asking me to stay. I refused. He said he would sleep on the floor, I could take the bed, he wouldn’t bother me. I told him that was the dumbest suggestion I’d ever heard. We argued about it for some time. But I guess we ended up falling asleep in his bed. I think it’s the first time since the end of the War that I slept through the whole night. Even after what happened. 

It makes me question everything, like how much I trust him. 

Trust is more about faith than it is about blindly following someone. The Dark Lord never understood the difference. Harry Potter is someone people can believe in. Someone I can believe in. He won the War because people needed to believe in something and they believed in him. I still believe in him and I don’t think my trust is misplaced. No matter what we did to each other, everything’s different now. 

I leave the warmth of his bed and collect my torn robes from a chair. Even touching them is too much. I can never wear them again. I need to burn them.

I reach the door and turn back to look at him.

Everything is different now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: aftermath of rape; non-graphic mentions of rape.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers: our boys are opening up to each other, talking things over. Please check the end notes for content warnings. Tell me what you thought of this chapter :)

**HARRY**

After he left yesterday, I expected him to avoid me for the rest of the year. I even expected him to downright ignore me if we crossed paths in the corridors. 

The last thing I expected is him showing up the next night, knocking on my door.

‘Can I come in?’ 

He pushes the door slightly open and looks at me with a cautious, closed-off expression. He’s wearing black jeans and a light grey cozy-looking sweater. He has a pair of black and white All-Stars. They look brand new. I didn’t even know he had Muggle clothes, much less that he knew what All-Stars were. 

I nod in answer, standing up from my bed. I straighten my old Gryffindor sweater. I wasn’t expecting anyone this late. Not even Ginny. We stopped meeting like we used to, agreed it wasn’t such a great idea. I feel suddenly underdressed for the occasion although I have no idea what the occasion might be. 

He walks inside, closes the door behind him. He’s carrying a bag, which he lays on my bed and opens, taking out the clothes I lent him the night before. 

‘These are yours. They’re clean.’ 

They’re also very neatly folded and smell like fresh vanilla. I take them from his hands. 

‘Thanks.’ I mutter. 

I have no idea what’s going on here. All I know is that last night was probably the worst night of his life. And that I brought him here and that we ended up falling asleep. Together. In my bed. And that when I woke up, he was gone.

Since it’s Saturday, and we don’t have any classes, I haven’t seen him the whole day. Which means I’ve been fighting the urge to go look for him. To ask him how he is.

I’m looking at him now. The bruises are still there, but he must have put up some glamour, they’re not as bad as they should be. They must be hurting him, in any case. His eyes are a bit red and puffed, like he’s been crying for a very long time. He didn’t glamour that, though. He looks tired, staring silently at his bag. 

He opens his mouth, then closes it. He takes a deep breath.

‘I was wondering if…’ He finally looks at me, grey eyes unreadable. ‘If I could stay here.’

My mind becomes a complete blank. I blink up at him. 

‘Sorry I asked - it's completely inappropriate -’ He picks up the bag, turns to leave. 

I stop him, my hand on his arm. 

‘No. I'm just surprised is all- Of course you can stay.’

He looks at my hand on his arm. I quickly remove it and stuff it in the pocket of my sweater. He stares at me. I wish I knew what he’s thinking. 

‘I’m going to change.’ He informs me. 

He takes his bag and locks himself up in the bathroom. I stare wildly at the mess in my room. I put away the folded clothes he gave me, then quickly pick up socks, discarded pants and sweaters, books, bits of parchment. I stuff all of it inside my trunk. My hands feel sweaty. I catch my reflection in the mirror over the dresser. My hair is more of a mess than usual. I try to comb it with my hands, with no result whatsoever. I feel nervous all of a sudden. 

When I turn back he’s coming out of the bathroom, wearing grey pyjamas. I’d thought him the sort of person to wear like silk pyjamas or some fancy thing but they’re just normal, cozy pyjamas. My heart races in my chest. His eyes take in the room, then me. I feel under scrutiny. My whole face is on fire. He seems about to make some sort of remark, but instead sets his bag on the floor, in a corner out of the way. 

‘There’s a cold draught in the Slytherin dorms. We already made a complaint.’ 

He says this as he walks over to my bed.

I swallow. The only thing on my mind is this: Draco Malfoy is sitting on my bed again. And he came here on his own free will, for reasons I can’t understand, but that I know, for sure, have  _ nothing at all  _ to do with a cold draught. 

‘Yeah, I’ve always wondered.’ I say, instead, taking a seat beside him. ‘What with it being in the dungeons and all.’ 

It’s meant as a sort of joke, but he looks intently at me. 

‘It's where one keeps the unwanted things.’ He says. 

‘Don't say that.’

‘It's the truth.’

We’re so close, I can even see his eyelashes. They're soft blond, long, curling at the sides.

‘I was supposed to be in Slytherin,’ I say after a while. It’s the first time I admit it out loud. His eyebrows arch up in disbelief.

‘You’re joking.’

I laugh.

‘The hat wanted to put me there. I said I didn’t want to. Everyone said Slytherin were the bad guys…’ as I’m saying it out loud, I realise how crazy it sounds. ‘It’s pathetic. A house can’t be all bad or all good. I met some horrible Gryffindors.’ I turn to look at him. He’s waiting for my next words. ‘I also met some good Slytherins.’

He stares at me. There’s a thousand and one things I feel like I need to tell him, but I don’t even know where to start. I feel like all our lives have been made into a sick game and no one asked us if we wanted to play until it was too late to get out. And we’re still paying the price, me and him. 

There’s this quick smile of amusement showing up on his face. 

‘You’re a complete sap.’ He decides. 

I realise how close together we’re sitting, our legs brushing, our arms touching.

‘You should… take the bed.’ I say. I need to stand up and put some distance between us because I’m feeling all sorts of things right now, but my body doesn’t seem to want to do it. ‘I can sleep on the floor.’

His eyes look bright. The smile is still there, something alive, driven right into me.

‘We slept together last night.’ He says, matter-of-factly.

Heat returns to my cheeks. 

‘I - I’m sorry, I fell asleep. I swear I didn't mean to, make you uncomfortable or -’

He stops me with a finger over my mouth. It’s so out of the blue, so intimate, that my whole breath leaves me in a rush. 

_ ‘We  _ fell asleep, Potter.’ His word,  _ we _ , stands out like evidence. He laughs. It’s a bright thing, so odd and sudden given all that’s happened. It jolts down my body, making me lightheaded. 

He takes his finger away, smiles down at some spot on the floor. 

‘Let's just sleep,’ he adds. 

‘Right.’ My throat is so dry. ‘Yes.’

He slants me a look. 

‘Move over. This is my side of the bed.’

I chuckle, but crawl over to the other side, pulling the covers over the both of us. There's really no one like Draco Malfoy. The way he goes from serious to funny, from vulnerable to demanding, from Wizarding-etiquette-solemn to someone who wears Muggle All-stars. And looks good in either of those too.

I’m grateful for the dark when he puts out the candles. I feel the warmth of his body next to mine. It's comforting in a way Ginny's never was. Not like this, anyway. Me and him... We're the same.

‘Are you okay?’ I ask, and immediately regret it. ‘Sorry. Stupid question, I always say the wrong thing around you -’

‘It's not the wrong thing,’ He sighs. 

He’s quiet for a while. Now that we’re not fighting, I’m aware of the calm way he always talks to me. Like he’s gathering his thoughts before speaking them, searching for the right words. And it’s not because he’s trying to deceive, but because he’s careful with his honesty. 

‘I will be okay. I just need time.’ He says, finally. 

He pauses for such a long time I think he’s already asleep when he speaks again. 

‘I never see you at dinner,’ he says, again completely out of the blue. 

And again I think that outside of a fight, I have no way to predict him. 

‘Or at lunch.’ He goes on. ‘Any of our meals. At the eight year’s table- you do know we all share a table now.’

‘What? Where’s this coming from?’

‘Just answer the question, Potter.’

I don’t waste time telling him it wasn’t exactly a question, because deep down I know what he’s really asking.

‘I’m not hungry.’ I say.

‘You used to be.’ He replies. 

It’s the little things he notices. That he always noticed about me. That I always noticed about him.

‘Sometimes I drop by the kitchens later. The elves get me something to eat. But I don’t really eat that much.’

I feel weird talking about it out loud. I’ve only told Mirna, my Healer.  _ Loss of appetite.  _ She told me it’s pretty common among people who went through what I went through. Whatever  _ that  _ means. I wonder how many people died and came back to fight a War. Not many, I imagine.

‘So are you?’ He insists. ‘Okay, I mean.’

I realise I don’t really know the answer. I haven’t been okay in a long time, but in the last few days, there’s only one thing taking up center stage in my thoughts. Something inevitable. 

‘I'm just -’ I turn towards him, tucking my arm under my head. He turns to look at me in the dark. ‘I’m just worried about you.’

He is quiet for a while.

‘I guess you can’t help it, Harry. It’s what you do.’

I wish I could see his face right now. I wish I could tell him that it feels right that he knows this about me. I wish I could tell him everything, even if it doesn’t make any sense. 

‘Goodnight, Potter.’ He whispers. 

As I’m dropping down to sleep, I realise he called me Harry for the first time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: mentions of eating disorder, depression and rape aftermath. All of these are made in the context of a supportive conversation.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're more alike than they know...

**DRACO**

Turns out, his ghosts are mostly like mine. That night, he wakes up screaming, sitting bolt upright on the bed, his chest heaving, his arms trembling. He holds his wand out in front of him, on the lookout for some invisible menace. 

‘No. Please.’ He chokes out. 

I cast a quick  _ Lumos _ . He looks at me with eyes unseeing, terrified. 

I don’t let myself think too much. My hands cradle his face.

‘It’s a nightmare, Harry.’ I say. ‘He’s not here. He’s gone. You’re safe.’ 

He blinks. I see the exact moment his eyes focus on me. He exhales deeply. He's still shaking. I take my hands away, push them under the covers. 

‘Voldemort?’ I ask, averting my eyes. 

Saying the name feels like claiming this fear that was always part of my life. I realise it no longer holds the same power. 

He rubs his hands over his eyes. Shakes his head. 

‘It was never about him.’ He says, his voice hoarse. 

He sets the wand on the nightstand, reaches for a glass of water. His hand shakes a little while he drinks. 

‘My nightmares are always the same…’ He gives a wry chuckle. ‘I lose everyone I love.’

He finally looks at me. Green eyes haunted.

‘That’s the thing about loving people…’ I hear myself say. ‘You can always lose them.’

I don’t tell him, but there’s only one thing worse than losing someone to war or death. And it’s losing them to blind ambition and then to madness. Like I lost my father, rotting away in Azkaban. No longer recognising my face, even.

Potter is looking at me, like he’s seeing more than I let on.

‘You know, most people would just try to cheer me up,’ he says. ‘Telling me that I’m not going to lose anyone else, that the War is over and all that bulshit.’

I stare at him. I think of my father, never aware of his own mistakes, never choosing his family over his thirst for power, never willing to make the difficult choices. Leaving us, Mother and me, alone to pay for it all.

‘I see no point in that.’ I tell him. ‘People shouldn’t say those things. No one can know that.’

But I wish I did. I wish I could tell him he’s never going to lose anyone again. 

I watch his hand on the mattress. I don’t know what comes over me, I cover his hand with mine. Our fingers slide against each other and entwine. It feels right. 

He leans back against his pillow and so do I. I whisper  _ Nox  _ and the room fills with shadows. We stay like this, not saying anything, not needing anything. 

I’m hanging on the verge of sleep when he speaks again.

‘You said his name. You never said it before.’

‘Yes.’ I swallow. ‘I’m done being afraid.’

I know it’s going to take more than saying it to make it come true. But it’s a step. I feel his eyes searching me in the darkness. His fingers tighten around mine.

‘You’re nothing like your father, Draco. Nothing at all.’ 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned that a bookish Draco makes me happy? Also, Ron and Hermione are here! Tell me what you think :)  
> Check the end notes for content warning.

**HARRY**

In the end, it’s all in the way he doesn’t look that Ravenclaw in the eye. 

That’s how I find out the truth, after weeks on high alert, obsessing over it. It feels like sixth year all over again. Only this time I have even less to go on than I did at the time. I can’t ask him again, point blank, who did it. But I need to find out who hurt him and make sure that the bastard will never do it again. Not to him, not to anyone.

Since that night, we started sleeping together. We don’t ever talk about it, or about what it means, but he comes over to my room around the same time every night. He brings his toothbrush and one day I notice he doesn’t bother to put it back in his bag. It stays there, right next to mine. Like the array of his hair products, three or four different bottles, placed in an ordered row, supposedly all destined for a different purpose that I know nothing about. Like his pyjamas, folded neatly on a chair, and the heavy books he brings from the library (which look exactly like the sort of light-reading Hermione fancies) and that he places on our nightstand, after perusing through them a bit before sleeping. And Draco Malfoy wears glasses, which when I first noticed it, nearly shocked me. He uses them only to read, they’re thin and modern and even though I never imagined him wearing glasses, now I can’t imagine him any other way. There’s something so weirdly comforting about his silence as he reads, his head tipped slightly down, a strand of his white-blonde hair falling over one side of his face, the concentrated stare. I have to force myself to look away and open the Seeker Weekly magazine Ron lent to me, staring at the flying picture of some famous American Seeker like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. But I feel him taking a peek at me here and there. I don’t react to it. I pretend to read on and feel his eyes on me.

We stop going to our spot. And the strangest thing happens: I no longer feel like smoking. 

I still have nightmares, though. Sometimes they’re even worse than before, like the less I think about it during the day, the more it all comes back to assault me at night. When I wake up he’s there. Sometimes he just helps me to calm my breathing down. Other times he touches me, his hands on my face, like that first night. His hands are warm. All of my spiralling thoughts stop at the sight of his eyes, solemn, on me. And even when I can’t go back to sleep afterwards, I listen to him breathing, feel him there, close enough that my fingers could brush the sleeve of his pyjamas. It’s reassuring in a way I can’t explain. I want to tell Mirna about this, but I don’t know where to start. How can I explain to her that we have all this fucked up history, that he was a bully, that he was horrible to my friends, that he once broke my nose, that I almost bled him to death in a bathroom. That I regret that more than anything else. How can I tell her that I don’t think he had a choice in the War, that he was a pawn, just like me, _exactly_ like me, that he did what he did for his family. How can I say to her that he didn’t hand me over to Voldemort, that he lied about not recognizing me and that later on his own mother lied too and that those two lies changed everything. It’s too much. Even thinking it — is too much. My thoughts get all confused when the issue is Draco Malfoy. But worse than all of this, how can I explain to her _what_ I feel about him? I don’t know what I feel. It’s something I never felt before.

I quickly find out that he has nightmares too. Both about the War and about that awful night. The reason I know the difference is that when it’s about that night he wakes up screaming, drenched in sweat and he locks himself up in the bathroom. When he comes back, he just lies down next to me, curls up on one side, his arms and legs drawn up, his head bowed forward and then he pulls the covers over us both. He doesn’t say a thing. But his fingers find mine in the dark. I hold them like I’m holding an invisible string of a balloon, something I could lose with a slight rust of wind. It’s a feeling I can’t explain, but so strong it takes over me. When that happens, I can’t quite breathe.

I thought he wouldn’t want anyone to know we’re sleeping together, that he wouldn’t want people talking about it, thinking it was something other than it is. Because we’re just _actually_ sleeping. I expected him to be discreet, waking up early so that no one would spot him leaving my room. But he goes about it so naturally, like we’ve been doing this for years, like he’s got nothing to hide. We usually come out of the room together. 

I have no idea how he managed to convince me, but I start going down to the Great Hall for meals. The first time back there is the worst. There’s too many people at meal times. All of Hogwarts is packed there. I can hear them talking, finding their way to their friends, discussing classes and the latest gossip, carrying glasses of juice, piling up plates and books, cracking up jokes, laughing and it’s as if I’m drowning, something pressing heavy over my chest, all of the noise building up like a wall around me, as I’m sucked down under under under. This was never a problem before, but it is now. It’s one of the reasons I stopped showing up to meals. Draco puts his hand on my arm. I notice I’m shaking. I want to tell him it’s nothing, but I can’t say the words. He pulls me close and starts walking us over to the eight years table, his body working as a sort of shield between me and the wall of noise and people. I can still hear them, see them, it’s still too crowded, too much, but Draco keeps us walking in a straight line towards the table. He finds me a seat on the quietest end of the table and sits right next to me. He gently pushes a plate in my direction. I stare at the stark yellow scrambled eggs and instantly have to fight the urge to throw up. My face must have shown something, because Draco quickly pushes the plate away from me and sets a fuming tea mug in my hands instead. When Hermione and Ron come down for breakfast I’m already sipping my tea and biting on the ends of an already cold toast. But it’s more than I’ve done in months. They look really happy to see me there, but what I’m really awed at is that they speak to Draco all through breakfast. The three of them seem to be getting along, in fact, Ron and Hermione are the only people at the table who actually talk to Draco at all. After that first time, I start to go down to meals with them. I still don’t eat much and most of the food makes me nauseous. But what I do eat doesn’t get stuck like it did before. At least that’s something I can tell Mirna. I think she’ll be happy to know.

Then one day the inevitable happens. He meets Hermione and Ron as we’re walking out of my room. I freeze, but he doesn’t. He says good morning, says he’s heading down for breakfast. I’ll save you a seat, he adds to us as he leaves.

All three of us look at each other. I open my mouth to speak, but I have no idea what to say. I don’t know what words describe this thing we’re doing. 

‘Well, at least you stopped hexing each other’s bollocks,’ Ron says and huffs a laugh. ‘You got us worried there, mate.’ There’s no hint of judgement in the way he says it.

Hermione smiles at me. 

‘You don’t need to feel awkward about this, Harry. We know he’s changed. It’s okay.’

I stare at them and still I have no words. As we’re walking together to the Great Hall, Hermione leans close to me and whispers:

‘You know… he came up to us on the first day back. He actually apologized. For the bullying and for the things he did when he joined the Death Eaters. He said he was sorry about everything. He really meant it.’

I’m speechless. I had no idea. I don’t need him to say he’s sorry, but I can tell that they needed it. And that it changed things between them too. There seems to be a lot I’ve been missing out. 

‘It’s fine if you like him, Harry.’ She says after a while. She always saw right through me and I fumble for an explanation.

‘Er- thanks. I- don’t- know- it’s really-’

The rest of what I meant to say vanishes off my mind. Because we’re at the Great Hall and Draco is walking over to our table, holding a plate and a glass of juice and there’s this very tall Ravenclaw — I think his name is Flannagan — walking over to him and everything slows down, halts. 

And then it all happens very fast. Flannagan looks straight ahead, but I watch how he deliberately bumps his shoulder hard against Draco’s. I can tell that Draco doesn’t notice him until it’s already happening. The plate nearly drops from his shaking hand, bright red juice spills over to the floor. Draco flinches, face livid. He looks away from Flannagan, steps back fast without a single word. 

And it’s all in there, so suddenly obvious I’m surprised I didn’t get it before. 

No one else notices any of it. Hermione and Ron are already taking their seats beside Draco. His pale face shows nothing at all as he makes an almost imperceptive movement with his wand to clean the mess away. Cool, impassive. 

It’s as if someone has turned up the noise. Around me there’s movement, people, but all of my vision tunnels to Flannagan. I’m seeing red. 

Flannagan passes me in a rush of violence. He walks out of the Great Hall. I turn around and follow him out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: mentions of an eating disorder; references to rape aftermath.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, please check the end notes for content warning (please do, this is heavy). This chapter was my absolute favourite to write. I hope it becomes yours too.  
> I'm heartwarmed from all your wonderful comments throughout this story. Thank you again for supporting my writing and enjoying this story so much!

**DRACO**

It’s very late when I finally find him in our spot. No rain, no stars, only a slice of moon in the sky.

I can see his profile under the dim light of my wand. He’s sitting on the ground, back to the castle’s walls, arms around his knees. A mess of black hair, ratted trainers and jeans. He looks tired, but he also looks... _good_. My heart jumps to my throat when he turns his head and sees me walking over.

‘You weren’t in the room,’ I say, unnecessarily. 

I’m not in the habit of stalking him, but the truth is I was worried. Even when he’s gone for a whole day, like today, he always comes back to the room. _To me._

‘I- I just needed some air.’ He says in a faint voice. His fingers are tracing some random pattern on the dry ground. I realise he’s not smoking. Then I realise I haven’t seen him with those Muggle cigarettes in a very long time. 

‘Do you want me to leave you alone?’ I ask.

He looks up. 

‘No, not really.’ There’s surprise, but also warmth. 

I sit down next to him. Our shoulders bump, but he doesn’t put any distance between us. His leg is shaking, a nervous twitch of his. I resist the urge to put my hand there to quiet him. He seems lost in his thoughts. I think I might know why. 

‘They’re saying Matthew Flannagan dropped out.’ 

I say this in my best casual tone. His leg all but freezes. I keep going. 

‘He was one of the Ravenclaw’s Beaters? A seventh year?’ I know he knows exactly who I’m speaking of. ‘Everyone’s talking about it, it’s the biggest news since your breakup with Weasley made the cover of Witch Weekly months ago-’

Potter blushes intensely. I can’t stop my lips from twitching up in a smile. 

‘You read that?’ He asks, a slight undertone of panic in his voice.

‘I didn’t have to.’ I lie. ‘Some of your fans were happy to quote it by heart.’ 

This second bit is actually true. But I read it. I also have a copy of the issue safely hidden away in my trunk. I will obviously deny this until the end of my life.

‘Yeah. Well.’ He bites his lip. 

I look at the moon, up there in the dark vast sky and pretend I’m not hanging on his every word. 

‘Me and Ginny, we’ve been over for a year.’ He takes a deep breath. I keep my expression impassive. ‘We were still... Sleeping together. But that’s over now. Months ago- before. You know- before we-’

He glances at me. It’s all right there in his eyes, the thing we never talk about. This thing that’s been happening for almost a year now, this thing that doesn’t have a name, this thing, right here, right now-

He tries again.

‘What I mean is- We’re over. Like, really over.’

He looks at me like he wants this piece of information to sink in. But it already did. Months ago. It made me happy in a strange way. And now he all but confessed he’s only sleeping with me. Which I obviously know because I’m there every night, sleeping right next to him. But the fact that he just said it, that he wants to make sure I know he’s not seeing anyone else- that there’s _only_ me- It almost makes me giddy. I wait until my heart and pulse slow down to a normal rhythm. 

There’s something else I need to know.

‘Someone dropping out this late in the school year… it’s unheard of.’

He looks quickly away, like I knew he would.

‘Yeah?’ 

I have to admire his attempt at nonchalance. He completely fails at it, but the fact that he tries is endearing. 

‘There’s also a weird rumor…’ I keep going because I’m not about to let him off the hook. ‘Apparently, someone broke Flannagan’s wand in half. He didn’t say who. But everyone’s going on about how freaking scared he was… he even talked of leaving the country. You don’t happen to have anything to do with that, do you?’

He swallows uncomfortably. I immediately know, in my gut, that I was right.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ He says. 

He cards his fingers through his hair. It’s his tell. 

And then I find myself laughing. I can’t help it. It feels strange, because I haven’t laughed in a very long time. And it’s also weird because I should be feeling like I owe him again, instead of this odd warmth, like a knot has been eased in my chest, a weight has been lifted. Like I can breathe again. 

‘I wonder how you survived a War.’ I say when the laughing fit subsides. ‘You’re a terrible liar, Harry.’

He grimaces, but there’s still a blush riding high on his cheeks. 

‘I didn’t lie my way to killing Voldemort.’ He shrugs. ‘Lying wasn’t really a prerequisite.’

I laugh again because he’s right. He’s known for telling the truth even when it’s highly inconvenient, even when no one else wanted to hear it. And even though he always had the support of his friends, it occurs to me how lonely it must have been. To carry that truth. To speak it. 

But there’s something liberating about it too. I take a deep breath. 

‘Flannagan… I- We were sort of… shagging.’

I can’t look at him right now, but I know he’s looking at me. There’s so much shame as I say this, but I have to keep going because I need him to know, to understand. I don’t want to feel like this anymore. Tainted, unworthy of everyone, but especially of him.

‘We were just fooling around. But… he wanted more. And I didn’t. He kept pressuring me… that night he- he forced me- I didn’t- Couldn’t- He just didn’t take no for an answer.’

I can’t help the way my voice cracks. His hand curls in a fist. 

‘That’s- he’s a fucking bastard, Draco.’ 

Even without looking, I can feel his eyes on me. 

‘I’m so sorry.’ He says, ‘I’m so sorry this happened to you.’ 

The way he says it — equal parts gentle and angry. It’s all _him_. 

I don’t dare to look at his face or I won’t be able to tell him everything. 

‘He threatened me- if I didn’t- So I… sucked him off. But it wasn’t enough to stop him-’ 

Saying it out loud is more difficult than I thought it would be. I finally dare to take a peek at him. I’m surprised to find how familiar Harry’s eyes are to me. I know them. I know him. And he does not look at me with pity. I realise that he never did. 

‘He - he got violent-’ I say in a whisper. ‘Threw me against the wall and he forced himself on-’ it all flashes before my eyes again. I make myself look at Harry’s clear green eyes. 

And the truth is all in there. He makes me feel safe, no matter how insane that sounds. I’m not in danger anymore because Harry made sure of it. It’s a new, impossible feeling. I swallow hard. I look in his eyes, gather the words around me. I will myself to say it.

‘He ripped my robes. I didn’t have my wand, but I had that hex, you know, the one I used on you, but I couldn’t, I just- I felt so helpless. I couldn’t get it out. I ran, like a fucking coward-’

I can’t breathe. My hand finds his. He holds it. I let myself collapse, my face on his chest. My eyes fill with sudden tears and I remember that this is not the first time he’s seen me cry. But that moment in the bathroom is light years away. We were different people then. This time, I don’t hold back. I let myself feel the terror and helplessness. I should be embarrassed, ashamed, but I’m not. He holds me through it. He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t try to fix me. He just holds me. 

After a while, I feel a warming spell washing over us. I stop shivering as his magic makes a kind of bubble for us, as his hand caresses my back. I lift my head up to look at him. And I can’t believe the sight of his eyes. They’re wet. His lips form a thin line. His jaw is tense. I can feel anger seeping through him, it’s almost something I can touch. He hates that I’m hurt. He hates what was done to me, he hates it so deeply. And still he holds me, he doesn’t let go.

‘You’re not a coward, Draco.’ He whispers. ‘He’s the fucking coward. Only a coward would do what he did to you. You did what you had to do to survive.’ 

His fingers brush a strand of my hair behind my ear. He’s touched me before, but this feels too good to be true.

‘You always did what you had to do to survive.’ He repeats.

I know he’s talking about what I just told him, but it seems like he means more. He does mean more. He means the War. He means everything. The tip of his finger brushes against my cheek. Gentle, the most intimate thing. 

‘How did you?...’ I start.

Harry looks at me.

‘Know it was him? You wouldn’t look him in the eye- you always look people in the eye, whatever their opinions of you.’

I have no idea how to respond to this. For a while, we don’t say a word. I let him hold me, my hand brushing slowly over his knee, my ear to his chest. I can hear his fast heartbeat. Nothing was ever easy to me, but he is. He knows me. Not some masked, collected version of me, but the real messy one. He sees it, the same way he sees the person I’m trying so hard to become. 

After a while, Harry pushes me back a little, so as to be able to look at me. And when he speaks I know he’s trusting me with something he wouldn’t just share with anyone.

‘I’m seeing a Healer,’ He says, solemn, nervous. ‘A Mind Healer.’ He swallows. ‘She’s helping me deal with-’ he gestures in the general direction of the trees, the castle, the darkness. ‘Well- Everything.’

I know what he means. _Everything_ just about sums it up.

‘So that’s what you do when you go to London? Like today?’

I’d always wondered what he did on Fridays. 

‘Yeah. Today was… hard.’

I hold his hand and wait for him to go on. But he just shakes his head and smiles faintly.

‘The War really fucked us up, didn’t it?’

It’s the exact word that he uses. _Us_ . Me and him, _together_. The War did fuck us up. It did take something from us that can’t be retrieved. But it also brought us here. It made us come back to each other all through this hellish year. The worst year… and the best one, too. 

‘Er- I told Mirna about you.’ He blurts out. 

For a hard second, I’m totally lost. But then I get it. Mirna — his Healer.

‘She asked if there was anyone I could talk to. That I could trust.’ I’ve never seen him blushing this hard. But then again my pulse is going wild all of a sudden.

‘And of course there’s Ron and Hermione. But there’s also… _you_. I told her that I trust you. That I-’

He looks at me.

And I simply know what he’s about to say even before he says it. I know it with the same certainty that made me go to him after that horrible night. The same certainty that told me that I was safe with him. That he would never hurt me. That certainty washes over me. 

‘I’m falling for you.’ 

His breath hits my face. Warm. A breath of distance.

And I realise that I really want to kiss him. If I’m being honest, it’s not even the first time I want it. But I don’t move to do it. Instead, I rest my head on his shoulder. He doesn’t push for an answer and he doesn’t push me away. His arms come up around me. He has no idea how peaceful he makes me feel. 

But I will tell him soon. He’ll know. He’ll know exactly how I feel around him, with him, about him. I will tell him about trust, about hope. I will tell him with every word that I can muster, because he deserves it.

Right now, this thing between us doesn’t have a name. It’s just a good thing. 

I know it, because I never had it so good before. It’s the first time, and I’m in awe of it. Of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: please notice that this chapter deals with the rape events that happened before. There's a description of what happened (not extremely graphic, but actions are named for what they were). It's made in the context of a loving and supportive conversation. Please take care*


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, there! So here's another chapter, Harry is dead set on a plan that might be even worse than having to kill Voldemort :D

**HARRY**

Less than two months to the end of the year, I decide that, after all, I want to finish Hogwarts. For the first time in ages, I have a plan and every intention of sticking to it. It’s not an easy task, ‘cause I basically have to pack almost a year of homework and studying into two months. I tell this to Hermione (who practically squeals in delight) and Ron (who practically gives me his condolences) and I also tell Draco (who practically tries to hide his smile). 

Then I ask them all for help because, if I’m doing this, I’m going to need nothing short of a miracle. 

The end of the year finds me nearly living in the library. I dive into every essay I didn’t do, into every book I didn’t read. Hermione and Draco lend me their notes. Draco is second to Hermione in every class to the exception of Potions (where he’s first) and Defence (where I’m first, even if it’s a close call between me and him). Their notes are detailed and thorough and complement each other. I read those at lunch (meal times now work as a break from studying; I still don’t eat much, but food has taste again, so I guess that’s improvement?), then I go back to the library and write and read until my eyes burn and my head feels like it’s going to split right in the middle. 

Draco keeps me company. I’m sure he doesn’t need any additional studying, but he sits with me, all quiet and serious the way he is sometimes, and reviews his notes for the final exams. Eight years are excused from taking the N.E.W.T. 's, but Hermione and Draco, being who they are, are obviously going to take them anyway. Ron decided they’re both barmy. I decided I won’t take them, but I’m still going to finish Hogwarts or die trying. 

In true Slytherin fashion, in exchange for his notes and help with my homework, Draco asks me to teach him wandless non-verbal spells. That’s what we do late at night, sitting in the room we share. I start by putting him through the easier, more practical spells. I don’t tell him, but he’s pretty much a natural at it. I think the only reason he couldn’t do it before is because he was afraid of failing. I guess he’s no longer afraid. 

We easily move to defensive magic, minor transfiguration and more complex stuff, like jinxes and hexes. I let him try those on me, so we can check their effectiveness. He sets his face deep in concentration, his shoulders and arms tense. After a couple of hours, I can tell he’s tired but he never shows the strain, it’s only that I know the tension on his back, the lines around his mouth, the way he bites his lip. I see him progress, getting more confident as he goes, faster and lighter with his fingers, the turn of his wrist, his raw magic gathering focus. I remember this is the reason I like teaching people. Helping them trust themselves — it makes me happy. He starts to accept my hands on his shoulders, lowering them, easing him into releasing his magic without being so stressed and tense about it. I also don’t say it, but I can feel the undercurrent of his magic flowing through him, powerful, more steady with each try. And I love the feeling of it. His brand of magic has become so familiar to me, as familiar as his presence on the side of the bed that he claimed as his. 

I won’t pretend and say that everything’s easy. It gets increasingly difficult to sleep alongside him, especially now that he’s openly flirting with me. It’s a fine line between friendship and something more and we’re definitely something more. He goes about it the same way he goes about almost everything else. Casually, like it’s no big deal, but also quite unpredictably. Like the way I catch him taking a peek at me while I’m getting into my pyjamas. Or the way he always sits so close to me, knees brushing mine. Or the way I sometimes catch him completely off-guard, smiling at me, and the way he lets me see it, not rushing to hide it. It’s slow, but it’s also him.

And then there’s that last weekend at Hogsmeade. Our last one, before exams and leaving Hogwarts. Ron is the one to invite Draco to come with us. We end up drinking Butterbeer together at the Three Broomsticks. We talk about Hogwarts, Quidditch and that scary thing called The Future. Hermione has a lot of ideas about The Future. She’s dead set on it and I have no doubt in my mind she’ll be brilliant in whatever she chooses to do. And Ron is excited too. And for the first time, I hear Draco talking about what he might want to do. As I listen to him speak, I realise I don’t have a plan. I never, once, thought about the future, because I simply didn’t believe I had one. And now it’s here, around the corner, and I’m panicking more than a little. The only thing suddenly on my mind is this: I don’t want to be an Auror. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life fighting Dark Wizards. I’m tired of darkness. I’m tired of fighting. 

I blurt it out to them. And then I don half the contents of my glass and pretend I didn’t say this thing that I’ve known for a year and was dreading to say out loud.

But that’s when he reaches over and holds my hand. He holds it right there, over the table, in front of everyone. And he says, in that way of his, assured and defiant, that I don’t owe my life to anyone else except me. That if I’m done fighting, then I’m done fighting. 

And Hermione and Ron wholeheartedly agree. 

As if that wasn’t enough to make me feel happier than I remember ever feeling, there’s the fact that he keeps holding my hand all through the rest of our evening. We move on to laughing and telling jokes and his fingers are wrapped in mine, comfortable and easy. He holds my hand on his lap, as the night falls outside of the windows and all four of us are feeling slightly tipsy, giddy and happy. He holds it when we finally get back to Hogwarts. He holds it even when we get inside and people are staring at us. He doesn’t shy away from this and I realise that I don’t want to shy away from it, from him. 

One night, he shows up with a Ministry approved pamphlet about some highly selective elite potions programme that Hermione told him about. He reads it aloud, laying by my side in bed, and then he looks up.

‘Think they’ll take a Malfoy? He asks, his old drawl back on his tone, even has his eyes show hope and amusement.

I crack a smile.

‘They’ll take you. It’s either that or their loss.’

He smiles at me, then throws a pillow at my face. We batter like we used to, only this time we do it in bed, laughing, too close. That night, in my room — our room — we almost kiss. He’s the one to lean closer first. He’s also the one with his fingers on the collar of my pyjamas. I taste his breath on my tongue. But then we both move away and lie back in our bed. 

He laughs. Everything in my body feels heady with it, his closeness, the fact that we’re both choosing to wait. I was never one to wait for anything. Patience is far from being my strongest suit. And still… waiting for him doesn’t feel like waiting at all. Waiting fills me with an insane happiness. 

Surprising no one except themselves, Hermione and Draco pass their N.E.W.T. 's with flying colours. They both get Outstandings and look bright eyed and proud. In an impossible outcome, I deliver every homework and essay. The teachers look so surprised, they’re practically rendered speechless, and one of them even looked like he might cry tears of joy. They clearly didn’t expect me to scrape through. I don’t blame them, because I didn’t believe it myself. 

And that’s how I survive Hogwarts after the War. With the help of my best friends. My therapist. And Draco Malfoy. Who I think might be my boyfriend. 

Maybe I should ask him. You know, just to be sure. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, maybe Harry should ask him, right? Right? :D


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers,   
> Draco is making some new choices. And a new list :) Tell me what you thought of this one! Thank you for supporting this story.

**DRACO**

Maybe this is what happens when the hero meets the one who once made all the wrong choices.

It’s our last week at Hogwarts and I’m back from my first therapy session. Harry got me a referral through his Healer. Mirna recommended a colleague of hers, a Healer who specializes in C-PTSD. Apparently these five neat letters explain a lot of what’s happening to me. 

Needless to say, I was nervous and a little more than a bit suspicious of this person who’s supposedly going to need to know a lot about my life. But I liked the way Healer Jackson looked at me. Like I was a person and not a nutcase. His expression didn’t change when I told him about my role in the War. I told him I had joined the Death Eaters and been instructed to kill people. I told him I did try to kill people, but all my plans failed. Except for the one that succeeded. I told him I was the one who let the Death Eaters inside Hogwarts during the Battle. I told him all of this just to get it out of the way. His expression showed only that he was listening to me. It also didn’t change to one of disgust when I all but bared my left arm and practically flung it in his face. The Dark Mark. Ugly and fading, but forever branding me with the worst choice I ever made. Instead of the judgement I became used to getting from almost everyone, he said in a warm, understanding tone: That must have been very hard for you. 

After that, I couldn’t say much at all. But I shook his hand at the end of the session and I’m coming back next week.

I worked so very hard to check Hogwarts off the list. Only to realise that this is the only point I actually want to check off. All of the others: marrying a pure-blood witch, producing an heir, punishing myself for everything, club myself into submission — I erased them. They’re gone. 

I can’t erase the past and all of its facts. I can’t pretend I didn’t make the choices I did. I almost killed Weasley. I saw Granger being tortured, the words I used to call her permanently etched on her skin. I saw one of my best friends burn to death. If I linger on these kinds of things, I’m back there with those thoughts. I can no longer reconcile who I was with who I am now. That person is a stranger now. I’m ashamed of him. Healer Jackson said I shouldn’t be ashamed, that what matters is what I’m choosing now. But I am ashamed. I wish I could take it all back. I don’t ever want to see the world divided into purebloods and mudbloods. I don’t want to go back there, I don’t want to follow through with my father’s plans for the Malfoy legacy. I want to do something good. Something worthy. To even the stakes. That means making some choices. Better ones. 

I’m making a new list. A list of things to look forward to, and not just to check off. Father would probably hate my new list, which I take as a good sign. The new list is good. So much better than the other one. Therapy is right there at the top. It wasn’t even a decision. I know it has to be my priority. But it’s closely followed by Harry. My  _ boyfriend _ . 

I think he’s been my boyfriend for some time now, though I can’t really say when that started. Maybe it didn’t. It felt more like it was happening slowly and then one day it was the truth. And it’s weird in a good way, because we’ve been doing everything in the wrong order and I really don’t care. I used to think there was a right way to do things, a traditional, more adequate way. Maybe it made sense for my parents, but the War has proven them wrong over and over again. I don’t care if we’re already sleeping together and holding hands everywhere. I was the one to reach out and hold his hand in public for the first time. It felt less weird than I thought it would. In fact, it didn’t feel weird at all. Now we do it all the time. 

Last night I was about to defeat Weasley in a game of Wizard’s Chess when he all but turned Slytherin-coy on me and said: your boyfriend can’t stop looking at you. I flushed. Harry, across the room (and very obviously watching me), flushed even harder. Weasley used the slight distraction to move to checkmate. I made the best show of being furious at Weasley. But that word, boyfriend, fit in this space in my chest, already waiting for it. 

I know that everyone at Hogwarts already thinks we’re boyfriends. Even the teachers. I like how that feels. I like when he leans closer and kisses my cheek and it doesn’t matter how many pairs of wide eyes are on us. A few days ago, Witch Weekly approached us for an interview.  _ Us, plural. _ We’ve been showered by a ton of mail from them and the Prophet. Apparently, they’re fighting over an exclusive or in their words, the full scope of our relationship. I can practically see the headlines: The Chosen One and the Ex-Death Eater. We ignored their mail, but that didn’t stop them from speculating on the front page. I’ve come to understand that Harry is very private. He hates all the attention, he hates the pressure of it, it makes him quite anxious, which means that I was wrong before, when I thought he loved the spotlight. I didn’t really know him. I do now. Everyone wants a piece of the boy hero, but I just want Harry. And I'm not letting those reporters anywhere near him.

I should have realised this before, but it hits me all over again one night, when he’s teaching me wandless. No matter how used I’ve become to it, the touch of his magic on me catches me off guard every time. It’s worse now because it isn’t during a duel, in a room full of people. It’s in our room, just us. Last night he had his fingers on my wrist. That word, boyfriend, was there too, even if none of us said it out loud. Even though we’ve been sleeping together, even though I wake up with his arms around me, his fingers, soft, on my naked wrist is still the most intimate thing we’ve done. My magic and his flowing together, an undercurrent of power and need. I felt breathless, my body thrumming. His defensive magic has always been his strongest, so he’s been teaching me some of those. I wonder what other wandless spells he knows. Handy ones, you know, for recreational use… Say, spells you’d know if you’re a wizard and having sex. I asked him bluntly and he flushed so hard. I said I was kidding, but I really wasn’t. But then I thought that it would be so good if he taught me those while- 

That’s when I knew. I want him. Every bit of him, down to the crooked smile and the nervous fidgeting and the messy room. And instead of being terrified of it, I understood that there was no going back from this. 

It’s nothing I could have imagined, so that’s probably the only reason I end up believing it’s true. Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World, boy hero of legend, vanquisher of Dark Lords, defender of the weak, finest Seeker, stubborn rule-breaker, impossible Gryffindor, surprisingly sassy and kindhearted, this impossible scruffy good looking man, is my boyfriend. 

But when I look at him, I no longer see this larger than life hero, this man who accepted death at 17. I see this person who’s been trying so hard to come back to life. All those things that I believed to be impossible, things I convinced myself I wasn’t worthy of, all of those things start to seem possible again. 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Draco made some changes, Harry has run out of words and happiness is a thing.

**HARRY**

Draco Malfoy is standing in the doorway and his hair is dyed a startling, magnetic, deep… blue. 

My mouth hangs open, my arm stops in the air, a folded sweater on the way to my trunk. He slants me a bright smile and I swear my heart stops for a second, kicks hard and jumps against my ribs. 

‘Too much?’ He asks, waltzing in. 

I close my mouth. Drop the sweater. He looks young and sort of Muggle and incredible, that stubborn strand of hair falling over his eye. The blue suits him like something out of a wet dream I could have had — that is, if I ever allowed myself to imagine Draco as happy as he looks right now. 

I can’t form any words, so he keeps walking over to me.

‘After my session, I went to this Muggle place. I wanted a change. I thought turquoise would go with my eyes. The hairdresser said it made the grey pop.’

There’s mischief in the way he smiles. I can’t believe I’m on the other side of that smile, that it's directed to me. The grey does pop. Draco looks so good, my chest hurts. I never liked anything this much. 

‘Do you like it?’ He asks, a tilt to his head. The bright sunlight coming in from the windows catches on the blue. Electric starlight. 

I keep nodding, like this is the only thing I know how to do. He waves something in front of my face. 

‘I bought a bottle of dye to retouch it. It comes off as I wash it. Mother will have a fit, of course.’ He laughs. He’s so close to me, that his laugh reverberates on my skin. ‘She’ll just have to get used to it.’

I can tell I also need some time to get used to it. All I can think of is sinking my hands in his hair and kiss him until I lose what’s left of my breath.

‘Have I rendered you speechless? If I knew it would be this easy, I would have done it ages-’

My hand slides into his hair. He immediately stops speaking. His lips part slightly. His hair is bright, soft, silk between my fingers. His breath catches.

‘I- I love it.’ I say. ‘I more than love it.’

‘You really like it.’ He echoes, a dazed look on his grey eyes.

‘I really like it.’ I repeat. But in reality, I can’t believe he’s my boyfriend and he looks like this. Even if I’d dreamed him, it wouldn’t be this good.

He turns his face against my hand and kisses my palm. I practically melt against him. His hands climb up my arms. His eyes take a peek at the room around us, encompassing the open trunk, clothes everywhere, scattered books. 

‘We have to pack, don’t we?’ he asks softly.

My throat is dry. 

‘Yeah.’ I breathe. 

I feel it again. This feeling I’ve been fighting all through the last week. My heart clenches. Tonight is our last night together. The last night I get to sleep with him. We both made a point of not talking about what happens after tonight. But now it’s here, open trunks, scattered belongings, and my boyfriend has dyed his hair blue. Or turquoise, whatever that is.

I miss him like he’s already gone. 

I take a step back and try to stop the shake in my hands, the feeling that I’m standing over an edge again and it’s all dark, dark and endless under. I have no idea when I’ll be seeing him again. 

I feel his fingers slipping into mine. He pulls me close again. I’m afraid to look in his eyes, to let him see. 

‘Harry,’ he says. 

It’s just my name in a whisper, but his voice has this way of reaching deep and untangle things for me. I can’t bear to say goodbye. Leaving Hogwarts and leaving him — it’s too much. I look up and let him see it. And then he says something completely unexpected.

‘What are you planning on doing this Summer?’

I never had Summers to plan. It was the Dursleys and then it was the War. I don’t know what a normal Summer even looks like. 

‘I don’t have any plans… probably going to Ron’s.’

He nods. 

‘My mother is going to Paris, to be with our relatives there.’ He says.

‘You’re going with her-’ I hear myself say it, but it can’t be my voice, hollow, empty. 

This is the future. The one thing I’m scared of. The future is here and he’s leaving me. I haven’t kissed him and he’s leaving, his bright blue hair, his sweet grey eyes, his stubborn mouth. He’s everything I want and he’s saying goodbye. I’m so sure of it, I almost don’t hear what he’s actually saying. 

‘I want to leave for a while. Go abroad, travel, doesn’t really matter where. What matters is... I want you to come with me. To spend the Summer with me.’

I open and close my mouth. A single thought: this is impossible.

He looks at me expectantly. I realise he’s probably thought about this ages ago and was just waiting for the right moment to ask me. 

‘We can go to Paris, or somewhere else. We both have money. You can get away from the press for a while- you can have some real holidays for the first time-’

He looks nervous, suddenly unsure, and that’s why he can’t stop talking. He thinks he needs to convince me of this. Like I would ever say no. 

I’m already lifting him off his feet, my arms around him. He makes this wonderful noise, half surprise, half true happiness.

‘Yes, Draco. Yes.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... blue hair Draco anyone? :D How are you feeling about this one? I'm a complete sap, I know. I'm a Hufflepuf, in case that's not already apparent *hya!* The last chapter is coming up and you won't want to miss it, believe me.
> 
> Edit: the actual hair colour is more turquoise than blue. But I believe Harry wouldn't, for the life of him, know how to distinguish between blue and turquoise, and since this is his POV... but I added Draco saying turquoise anyway, he knows his colours :) 
> 
> Here's the inspo for Draco's hair I used (for the colour, ignore the haircut): https://pin.it/vbjdeag2rhh6cb


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it the KISS? :D Let me know what you thought of this ending!  
> I hope you had a wonderful time reading this story. Thank you for all the comments and support of my writing :) Take care*

**DRACO**

He’s laughing against my throat. 

I want to kiss him. It’s the first thing in fucking ages that I want like this. 

I want and want with a hunger that rips my stomach, cuts through me and yanks me to the surface. I stand trembling on the edge of this feeling, his laugh ringing in my ears, his arms around me, his whole body warm and wanting. My fingers reach for his hair, tangle in there lightly. 

And I want, I want, I want. I rise with it, my whole being drawn out. 

**HARRY** ****

His eyes are so grey. The only thing left of the boy I knew. But they’re no longer cold. They’re not cold at all. His hand tangled in my hair, his whole body flung into mine. He can’t hide the fact that he’s breathless.

‘Just ask.’ He speaks these words nearly into my mouth. He says them in that way that’s so very him: warm and like he couldn’t care less. And I love the fact that I’m the only one who knows just how much he cares. 

I release him very slowly. We both sway on the spot, dizzy. 

‘Can I kiss you?’

He looks at me. There’s an ease in the way he leans in closer. He hasn’t said yes. His lips press closed against mine. 

**DRACO**

This is our first kiss. His lips on my lips, a barely there touch that makes me burn so very slowly. He doesn’t pull me any closer. I think he’s afraid of scaring me away. Unsure of how I’ll react. I reach for his hands and drive them around me. They settle on the small of my back, mine climb up to his chest. 

There’s still no tongue in our kiss. We’ve been so many things, but this is unlike anything I imagined us to be. He drags his lips over mine. I do the same, and it’s slow and a bit maddening because I know he’s holding back. I can sense it in the way he tenses against me, in the undercurrent of his magic going all over the place in a way that I kind of love. 

‘Kiss me like you’ve been wanting to all this time,’ I say it against his mouth. I don’t tell him it’s what I’ve been wanting, too. 

He makes a startled sound. His pupils blown wide. Endless green. I can feel his heartbeat under my fingers, over his neck. Frantic.

His tongue slides inside my mouth. It goes there tenderly, but there’s so much hunger in it. It’s not an invasion, it’s something I want and I’m so glad I waited, I’m so glad that even though he’s not my first in other things, he is my first kiss, my first real kiss. 

I’m so glad it's him. 

He tastes sweet, but there’s an edge to him, to the way he kisses. I want that edge like I want everything about him. I feel so lightheaded I have to pull back slightly.

‘Is it okay?’ He asks immediately. 

He wants to make sure I want him. I want him to be sure. 

I run the tip of my finger over his wet lips. He’s trembling, his magic going haywire. He looks at me like I’m a dream. 

But he’s the dream. He’s the dream I didn’t know I was allowed to want. 

I feel a sudden urge to laugh. I do. It’s not what people are supposed to do when they kiss, but I laugh. He laughs too. He kisses the side of my mouth. He kisses my neck. His hands move down my back, hesitant. I don’t want them to be hesitant, I want them to know how much I want. I want them to go everywhere.

I take his mouth. I’m kissing him like I always wanted to.

  
  


**HARRY**

I never knew he wanted me like this. We’re on the bed now, kissing among the clothes and the books, a whole mess around us. He’s on top of me, moving, sunlight catching on his throat. His blue hair brushes my cheek. He smells like Summer and impossible things. 

He takes my hand, puts it over his thigh, makes it climb all the way up. There’s a drum of need underneath, I can feel it beating, wild, wild. But there’s time. We have time. 

**DRACO**

Our lips part. He’s everything I knew he would be. He rests his head against mine, panting slightly. We’re both fully dressed yet, but I never felt this close to anyone. We breathe each other’s breaths. He has a question, his hand hovering close, but not touching.

My fingers twist in the air. The door locks, his body jerks against mine. My magic is a turn-on for him, I realise. My wrist moves again, the silencing spell building up a wall around us. 

His smile is blinding. He laughs, I can’t breathe. I take his hand and place it there where I want it. 

  
  


**HARRY**

I made a list of all the things I didn’t want my therapist to know. I’m going to read it in our next session. Maybe, it will be fine. For the first time, there's a future for me to think about. I don't know what it will be. All I know is, whatever it is, I want him to be in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: omg I just realised this fic is 18888 words long and has 18/18 chapters wth? Is there any kind of sign in there? I swear I didn't plan this! 
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking with this little story. It was a joy for me to write it and also therapeutical, drarry always helps me through depressive stuff. Anyhow, I'm not on tumblr or anywhere interesting, but I do have a ton of other drarry fics that you can read right here if you liked this one! :) thank you to all the readers, the ones that gave kudos, the ones that commented and the ones that read it anyway!

**Author's Note:**

> I always write my Drarry to the sound of a playlist I made on Spotify. If you want, you can listen to it here (order by recently added so you can listen to the songs that inspired this story): https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1WIUCniU7D9zecJSXc1FxE?si=TUOQEvw8TXaWVFwMR4noiQ


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